


When Roots Are Exposed

by Aztecl



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Episode: s02e07 The Believer, Gen, I'm Going to Hell, POV Din Djarin, Panic Attacks, Protective Din Djarin, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28092492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aztecl/pseuds/Aztecl
Summary: *SPOILERS FOR 2x07*With shaking hands, Din reached up and pulled off the helmet—the daring and venturesome part of him.And yet that move was a desperate one too..In which we explore Din's thoughts during 2x07: "The Believer". SPOILERS BEWARE
Relationships: Din Djarin & Migs Mayfeld
Comments: 8
Kudos: 149





	When Roots Are Exposed

**Author's Note:**

> *SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE EPISODE*
> 
> Title comes from a poem called "When the Roots are Exposed" by Esther Belin.

"Give me the datastick." 

His voice sounded hollow, seemingly echoing through the helmet, nothing but another shield from the outside gazes of others upon his bare face.

"It won't work," Mayfield told him carefully. "In order to access the network, the terminal has to scan your face."

Even before Mayfield had finished his sentence, Din had a feeling he knew what the man would say. It was a feeling of dread and dead weight that had settled at the bottom of the mandolorian's stomach, threatening to claw its way up and escape from its current holder.

Din inhaled sharply, unable to resist his lungs' calling for more air. 

But he also couldn't ignore the spark in his mind, the one screaming, The child!—Grogu! You have to save him!

With that thought in mind, Din started across the room, taking in both everything and nothing at all. His senses seemed cloudy and distant, as if Din weren't even there. But alas, he reminded himself that, yes—he was in the mess hall with Mayfield and surrounded by Imps. He was disguised as a grey and lifeless stormtrooper, not hidden behind his oh-so familiar beskar and the helmet he'd worn since childhood.

The clattering of plates and silverware, scraping of chairs across the hard metal floor, and the sounds of others talking loudly sounded muffled to Din as he walked across the mess hall, heart racing inside his chest.

It took him more effort than it usually would have just to carry himself on both legs. He steadied himself against the terminal in the corner, his hand gripping the cold surface like a lifeline; but life never survived in the Empire's clutches. Din could already feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of his masked head, seeing through him before he had even taken off the stormtrooper helmet.

The desperate part of his inner conscience initiated the scan with the helmet on. 

Din struggled with himself to remain on his feet, balanced and not constantly shifting on each foot. Maybe the console was broken and it would let him in; the coordinates would practically float across the screen and Din could finally go rescue the kid. To him, time came to an abrupt stop as the light from the terminal flashed an angry red. Seconds later and a voice starting repeating an ERROR message out loud for everyone in the mess hall to hear. So much for stealth, Din thought bitterly.

He steeled himself and fought off another wave of nausea?—panic? Din didn't even have the faintest clue anymore. The only thoughts circling through his brain were: It's my only choice if I want to save Grogu and What kind of buir am I if I can't protect him?

With shaking hands, Din reached up and pulled off the helmet—the daring and venturesome part of him.

And yet that move was a desperate one too.

The air hit his cold and clammy face like a slap across the face. He stood there for a few more seconds, most likely looking like a complete fool. Din didn't even realize and process how his hands glided over the terminal until the coordinates were safely secured with another flash of the screen. (Thankfully, it wasn't a scarlet red color this time.)

"Trooper."

Din extracted the datastick from the terminal. Then he stood there again, completely paralyzed with the knowledge that he had broken the creed. He was a sorry excuse for a Mando’ad and couldn't shadow himself in the protective comfort of knowing his face was hidden by beskar, anymore. 

His roots had been uplifted—no, ripped out of the ground and into the light for everyone to see. Now they tangled around his feet and pulled Din down to the ground to drown in his shame and broken creed. He could hear the crackling of branches, the soft and delicate leaves falling from the tree connected to the roots, and above all that, Din remembered the sound of Grogu's giggles and coos.

"Trooper."

Closing his eyes, Din wordlessly listened to the sound of an Imperial officer approaching him. 

Broken words flowed from his mouth with a stutter.

The harsh lights came down onto his eyes heavily, seeming to push them further and further away from the present. Din realized that that would've been quite an interesting sight seeing how wide his eyes probably already looked. Every emotion and micro-expression would be in full view of everyone in the room, and god-forbid Migs Mayfield. Din wasn't sure how to feel about that last one yet.

Right on cue, Mayfield appeared by his side. "This is my commanding officer..."

The rest of his sentence was completely lost to Din. He didn't—couldn't—hear anything except for his own shaky breaths and the thump of his heart pounding rapidly. One breath. Then another. It still wasn't steady, but he decided it was slightly better than how it was just moments ago.

"We call him Brown Eyes."

Din would've chuckled if the situation wasn't so tense. In fact, it worried him considerably with laughter being the first thought on his mind. 

From the corner of his eyes, he saw the officer meet his gaze. Din held his breath, ready for the worst—whether it was being caught, killed, or them figuring out that he was the infamous mandolorian. He was the one with the child, the child who was already conveniently in the Empire's hands and likely sitting in a containment cell.

Din felt a lump rise in the back of his throat. Images of Grogu, bloodied and crying, flooded his mind...

Mayfield's hand grabbing his arm snapped him back to reality.

He was led past the officer, and for a second, Din thought they would escape unscathed (minus his creed). The plan had actually been a successful run and now they could get back on track with saving the kid. But plans don't work, do they?

The officer stopped them, placing a hand on Din's shoulder. "Let's have a drink, Brown Eyes." 

So instead of leaving the mess hall, Din found himself sitting at a table with an Imp and Mayfield. He couldn't help but think that it sounded like the beginning of a bad joke: A mandolorian, a former prisoner, and an Imperial officer walk into a bar...

Din blinked a few times, catching only a few words about Operation Cinder and the conversation between the officer and Mayfield. He gave Mayfield a hard look, but kept his mouth firmly shut as if it were stitched together and bound tightly. 

He'd taken off the beskar and worn stormtrooper armor, right? He'd told himself that the creed would be fine with that much, that it would be allowed in the case of saving his child; children were important to the Mando’ade. But for Din to remove the helmet in the presence of others? Was that allowed, even if it was for an important and just cause? He was Grogu's buir and that was special.

By the time Mayfield had drawn his weapon and fired it into the Imp's chest (the joke's punchline, of course) Din had already made his decision.

He would do whatever it takes to get the kid back. Whatever it takes...

Mayfield handed him another stormtrooper helmet before turning away.

"I never saw your face."

Din clutched the helmet in his hands. He couldn't see much of a reflection in the dull surface, but he knew well what was there—those big brown eyes staring back at him, widened with fear and worry and disbelief. But Din could also see himself with a glint of determination sparkling within the hues of brown, highlighting the way towards the endgame.

His roots may have been broken, but trees can always be replanted to grow bigger and better.

Din slid the helmet over his head.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably my favorite episode. The acting was just incredible between both Pedro Pascal and Bill Burr, yeah?


End file.
